This Is Today
by DorkOfRoses
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing: characters, books, movies or anything else. Warning: slash! Yaoi/guyxguy !STORY CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, BE WARNED! Bryon hasn't been himself for a long time, even before Mark went to jail, nothing seems to catch his interest. That is until one day he finds Ponyboy Curtis about to be beaten by a group of Socs. And suddenly, he's got interst in something.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders, That Was Then, This is Now, the characters or anything else.

Warnings: Slash! Will contain guy on guy or Yaoi or gay love or whatever you want to call it later on (if the story is continued and not just left as a one-shot) so if you gots a problem with that, piss off in advance.

* * *

Ya know, it's real weird to think that just a year ago, so many things were different. Mark and I were like brothers, I was hung up on Angela Shepard, I hated the Curtis boy and M&amp;M was just a weird little kid who kinda freaked me out. It's real weird to think about that .But, it's even weirder to think about how much things have changed; Mark's in jail, I'm completely over Angela (and Cathy for that matter), I don't think Curtis is all that bad (just a little quiet) and I try to avoid M&amp;M at all costs.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to the before days. Back when me and Mark were hustling people at Charlie's bar and drinking triple as much Pepsi as we could afford. And other times, I'm glad things turned out this way; I'm glad that I don't have to worry about caring about people or their feelings or their problems or anything else anymore. And it was just one of those days following the latter.

* * *

I was walking down some road I didn't recognize, passing by houses I didn't notice seeing some people I didn't care about. At least, that is until I hear a shrill shriek of a string of curses, causing my whole body to tense. I recognized the voice, but I had no idea whose it was. Just someone's I had heard before. And brother, did they ever know how to curse a whole lot of colors.

I took off toward the sound of the scream. I don't know why, I didn't know why then, either. Maybe I was hoping to see a fight. Maybe I wanted to get in on a fight. I don't know. All I do know is that I took running down that road, cutting through people's backyards until I didn't have the slightest clue where to go. But, my confusion was short lived as another string of curses was thrown into the air as if they were a prize to the ears of everyone who heard and that needed to be shared. I ran toward the scream, feet slamming hard against the ground as I did, and a couple moments later found myself staring at a strange sight; there were five or so big guys with wild grins on their faces and different colored decorative shirts on surrounding one small, skinny body. One of the guys, some burly blonde, had the trapped person's bicep in a death grip, squeezing so hard I could already see the purple and blue bruise blooming atop the skin under his fingers like a darkly colored flower with finger-shaped petals.

"Don't think we forgot about what your friend did to Bob, ya little shit." The blonde growled out each word and yanked the arm roughly and I could see the face of the kid he was holding. I wanted to yell I was so surprised. There, lying in the death grip of some asshole, was none other than the one and only Ponyboy Curtis. His usually shy and quiet and embarrassed grey-green eyes were fiery and had a glint I knew that my eyes had possessed on many occasions prior to this year.

The blonde chuckled mockingly at Curtis' sharp, fiery eyes. "What? Ain't got nothin' to say? You had plenty to say the night Bob died, now didn't 'cha? After all, that's what got your friend beat and turned him into a killer, huh? You just had to go and run your pretty little mouth," he brought and hand up, and at first I thought he was going to hit Ponyboy, but instead he just cupped his cheek (rather roughly if I may say so) and ran his thumb over Curtis' lip, keeping his other hand clenched firmly around his arm. "It's too bad you're trash, Kid. Really, it is. You could've been real pretty."

Before then, I'd always saw Ponyboy Curtis as this shy, sweet little harmless, innocent pacifist. But in that moment, I could see the pure rage, fury and hatred flowing through his eyes as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. "Let go," he said each word slowly and sternly, balling and unballindug his – as I was thought harmless– fists. But, he quickly proved me wrong for thinking he was harmless because just about two seconds later his fist was slammed into the blonde's face, hard, sending the blonde falling to the ground with wide eyes and a bloody nose.

I wanted to snort at how fast the blonde had just hit the ground, but my attention was drawn somewhere else as another one of the guys– some muscley brunette with freckles– grabbed Pony by his hair, gripping it in a tight fistful just at the base of the back of his head. Curtis let out a loud yelp, most likely accidentally, and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, hands flying up to try and tear the tight-gripped fist from his hair. He let out another loud, shrill string of cusses when he couldn't break the brunette's grip.

"Damn it!" Pony screamed, thrashing his legs violently, probably trying to kick the brunette behind him. "Let go!" The brunette just chuckled.

I was just about ready to step out from where I was "hiding" and kick some uptown ass when Ponyboy bent his arm and thrust it back violently, his elbow connecting hard with the brunette's gut and sending him collapsing to the ground alongside the blonde, winded and shocked and coughing and rasping for air.

Ponyboy was on his feet in a flash and running away from the group, and right for me. I wouldn't know until later that he had known I was there the whole time and that he thought I was a total asshole for just watching him get hassled by some jerks, but, hey, at the time I guess I found it semi-entertaining. He grabbed my hand as he ran by and by body jerked around. I began to move my feet in an awkward jog until he began to pick up the pace and I had to full blown run with all my might to keep up with a pace that was probably slow to him.

"Where we going?" I half-yelled-half-panted, lungs burning.

"As far away from here as we can get," he stated and kept running at a steady pace, never letting go of my hand. "Unless you want to stop and here and get beat."

I shook my head. As much as I didn't care that much about stuff anymore, I still cared about getting the hell beaten out of me. And from what they did to little newly-fifteen-year-old Ponyboy Curtis, I didn't have a doubt in my mind I'd most likely be killed.

"Who were those guys?" I asked, swallowing down saliva as a way to hydrate myself, my throat abused from all my ragged breathing. Ponyboy shrugged, eyes back to their usual shy, quiet innocent selves. "They said your friend killed someone," I began, and my first thought of anyone he was friends with that could have committed a murder immediately went to Mark. So, that's what I said. "Was it Mark? Did he kill someone?"

Pony let out a mixture between a snort and a scoff. "No, Douglas, it wasn't Mark. And you ought to mind your own business, 'cause the stuff they said ain't any of yours to be getting into."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but didn't. Curtis was right, after all. It wasn't any of my business. But, that didn't stop me from being curious. Now I know that I probably should've just listened; left him and his business alone and saved myself a hell of a lot of trouble. But, of course, I didn't do that. I had to do things the hard way.

We ran for what felt like hours. My leg muscles were sore and stinging violently, my throat hurt and my voice was hoarse, and my lungs burned more than they ever have before. We finally stopped running somewhere I'd never been before. A real bad part of town across the tracks that was infamously known for being home to all the hardcore, stereotypical, hoody greasers.

"What're we doin' here?" I asked as he walked down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pants pockets (he wasn't wearing a jacket, I've got no clue why not), obviously relaxed and comfortable. "Curtis," I began, looking around the streets with suspicious eyes. "This is a real bad part of town, in case ya didn't notice. We should probably leave, get you home and all that. You're old man and old lady are probably worried something awful."

This time, Pony did snort. "I live here, Genius," he flung his hand out toward the house we'd stopped in front of. It had only one story (like my house) and there were two doors, one screen (that was open) and one wood. The front yard was blocked off from the sidewalk with a chain-link fence with little gate in the middle that had a broken latch on it. This was definitely not the type of house I pictured the Curtis' to live in.

He walked over to the gate and pushed it open, walking into the from years and sending me a look over his shoulder. "And by the way," he began, "my parents are dead." And with that, he just trotted to the porch before shoving the door open and stepping aside without so much as a glance back.

I was shocked to say the least. I had no idea his parents were dead or he lived on such a bad side of town. He seemed like one of those kids who lives in middle class. I live in upper-lower-class, pretty close to middle class. I always thought he was like that too.

But, I guess I really should learn not to judge a book by its cover. Especially not one as interesting as Ponyboy Curtis.

Prologue end!

So this is my very first Outsiders story I've ever written, so hopefully it's okay? I've only just finished the second book the other day so I hope I got the characters good enough for everyone's liking. I'm pretty sure I'll be continuing this, but I'm not totally sure. Tell me what I should do in dem comments down there! This is also my first time using Google Docs to write something like this so hopefully there aren't too many typo's. I had someone read it over for me and I proof read it myself a couple of times but I always seem to miss stuff. Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading! Peace!


	2. Chapter One

_**Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders, That Was Then, This is Now, the characters, the books, the movies, or anything else **_

_**Warning!: Swearing... Kind of? Slash! Boy on boy later on! So, yeah. Gay greasers [insert awkward woop] **_

Over the next couple of days, my thoughts kept drifting back to the littlest Curtis. I saw him at school a couple of times, but he was never somewhere where I could approach him. He was always either at his locker or reading or in a group of people. I saw him a few times with Curly Shepard, too, so there wasn't a possibility of going over to him then either.

That is, until I saw him walking down the sidewalk on a Saturday afternoon. The sun was still fairly high in the cloudless sky, warming the earth like a warm, invisible blanket of warmth over it's surface. Birds were chirping and small children galloped around the streets –greaser and Soc kids alike– together, laughing and yelling and playing all together. And of course, like the strange creature he was, Ponyboy's nose was buried in a book with a weak binding and ripped cover.

Casually, I trotted over to him and fell into a steady walk beside him. He didn't even look up, let alone acknowledge my presence.

"Yo, Curtis," I said. "You alive over there? Or have you died and your body just keeps walking on it's own like a chicken?"

He gently muttered something before turning the book's page and scanning his eyes over it, reading quickly, as if searching for something. I can't imagine what he could've been looking for it some tattered old book. I mean, what could be in there that he wanted to read so bad? The meaning of life? The answers to all unsolvable questions? The secrets on how to magically turn into a bear? Hell if I know.

"Hey, Kid." I waved a hand in front of his face, becoming irritated with his ignoring me. "Ya know," I began, "It's rude to ignore people."

"Yeah, and it's rude to be botherin' someone who obviously wants nothing to do with you." He replied smartly, still not removing his eyes – that could be compared to grey-green oceans–from the off-white page.

I frowned at that. What did he mean he didn't want anything to do with me? I hadn't done anything wrong. At least, I didn't think I had. But, knowing me, I probably had and just didn't realize it. Like when I abandon Cathy, that was wrong, but at the time I didn't consider it like that in the slightest.

So, because I was slightly offended, I voiced my problem with his words. "I ain't botherin' you, Curtis."

"Oh? Then what exactly do you call this?"

I smirked and shrugged, "A good time with Bryon Douglas is what I'd call this. But, you're bein' a little dork and have your nose in a book and ain't letting yourself have a good time with me."

Finally, he slapped the book shut and let out an exasperated sigh. He turned his gaze on me, eyes narrowed in irritation and an expression that clearly said "What do you want?" painted his boyish features. "Okay," he said. "You have my attention. What do you want, Douglas?"

The corners of my mouth twitched upward lazily until my lips were pulling into a smirk. Then, I shrugged. "Not much."

He rolled his eyes dramatically. I swear, this kid could've had anyone fooled that he was full of nothing but ignorance and conceitedness the way he talked and acted toward people like me. But, I can't say I blame him. I wasn't necessarily a good person, or even a decent person. I was probably the perfect example of someone he should stay away from; I drank (although most kids my age and social class did), I smoked like crazy, I got into fights constantly, I was a smart mouth, I managed to get myself a whole bunch of enemies in my seventeen years of life, I hussled people in bars, gambled and was quite the problem child. I'm surprised my mother didn't go insane raising me up.

"What's your problem with me, Curtis? I ain't even done nothing bad to you before," I said, pulling out a cigarette. He just shrugged, tucking his book under his arm and pushing his hands into his hoodie pockets. I held a cancer-stick out to him and he shook his head.

"Tryin' to quit," he explained loosely.

I quirked a brow at that. "Quit?" I repeated, questioningly. "Why're you quitting? You're a greaser aren't ya?" He shrugged. "And greasers smoke, so, here," I shoved the cigarette toward him once again and he shook his head sternly.

"Can't. My brother says I need to stop, started smoking over a pack a day and he says I'll get cancer if I keep going. Plus, it was getting hard to breathe sometimes when I run."

"Why do you listen to your brother?" I asked, setting the newly lit cigarette between my teeth. "If I had a brother and he told me what to do, I wouldn't listen."

"You do have a brother, Douglas. Mark? Remember? That skinny blonde kid who hotwired cars and lived with you? Any of this ringing a bell?" He asked, a sarcastic undertone in his voice.

A low growl grew in my throat. "Mark isn't my brother, Curtis. He hates me. And to be honest, I think I hate him too."

Ponyboy rolled his eyes and scoffed lightly. "Ha," he laughed sarcastically. "You two don't hate each other. You've just convinced yourselves you do."

"Oh? And how would you know that, Curtis?" I spat, practically glaring at him. Glory, I wanted to punch him.

Our walking pace hadn't slowed or stopped, but the air was tainted with angry tension.

A smirked played at his lips and be shrugged once again. " 'Cause I'm smart." As soon as he finished speaking, a rusty pickup truck pulled up next to us and a guy popped his head out. He yelled something loudly that I couldn't catch and a second later Ponyboy was climbing in the passenger side and another second and the truck was taking off down the road.

I scowled slightly and flicked my used cigarette to the cement, stomping it out under my foot.


	3. Chapter Two

**I don't own The Outsider or That Was Then This is Now **

Glory, that Curtis kid made me mad something awful the other day. Acting like he knew how I felt toward Mark, he didn't know. He couldn't know– I barely knew. Maybe he really was as conceited as I'd first thought, or maybe he really was just smart. I don't know, really.

I hadn't seen Pony since that day after school, and I didn't much feel like looking for him. He lived in a bad part of town, and I wouldn't want to go there uninvited unless I wanted to be jumped or killed. The people around there didn't mess around; maybe that was why those people were saying something about Ponyboy's friend killing someone. It surprises me that the little Curtis would even be friends with someone who would kill someone– but not too much because after all, he was friends with Mark and he gambled and hotwired cars and sold drugs.

I never did understand Mark's and Pony's friendship. One seemed to be little goody-two-shoes and one was a punk. But, Ponyboy was known as a real greaser, and greasers often did things they weren't supposed to. I suppose being friends with punks who stole cars and sold drugs and with guys who killed other people were things teenage boys shouldn't be doing.

The next day, I saw Ponyboy. He had himself sat up on a high counter in the local DX station and I didn't notice him until I had made my way over to the little soda fridge plugged into the wall to grab myself a Coke. He was talking with some older boy, he was taller than Ponyboy and wore the regular blue uniform DX workers usually wore. His eyes were a deep brown full of laughter as he grinned at the green-grey eyed boy on the countertop. I recognized the older boy slightly, I'd seen him just about every time Mark and I'd ever come in here, along with another older boy with crazed curly hair and the same uniform.

I made my way over to the counter, holding the glass Coke bottle in a loose grip. I waved my empty hand lazily at Pony and sent him a smile. He didn't return in, of course. Just looked at me boredly. I wondered briefly if he looked at everyone like that, or if it was just me. I also wondered if he just didn't like me any. That could be it, I wasn't the most likable person; after all, I'd just gotten over hating his guts, maybe he just needed to get over hating mine.

The older boy grinned at me from behind the counter as I handed over the Coke bottle. I handed him the fifteen cents I knew that it'd cost and he smiled and nodded in acknowledgement as he took the change and dropped in the cash register. He handed me back the bottle and I took it, muttering a thank you. I could've just left after that, taken my Coke and went home like I would normally do. But, Ponyboy was here, and I hadn't seen him in a few days, so no way was that happening.

I leaned my shoulder up against the beige wall, resting all my weight against it. "Hey, Ponyboy," I greeted the younger boy, smiling at him.

He shot me a look. "Hey, Douglas," he replied, all but glaring at me.

I chuckled at his disgruntled expression. "Sure looks like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Kid."

"No, as a matter of fact, I woke up on the side of the bed I always wake up on," he said smartly, causing me to snort with laughter.

I had to give it to that Curtis kid, he had a quick tongue and a brain full of good comebacks. I'd learn that better in the future all right, that kid would cause and win a whole lot of arguments.

I grinned widely. "So you always wake up on the wrong side of the bed? No wonder you're so grumpy all the time."

I heard the older boy begin to laugh. "Glory, he's gotcha there, eh Ponyboy?"

Ponyboy shot him a look and the older boy just grinned, which made Pony grin too. The older boy looked at me before saying, "I'm Sodapop, by the way. Ponyboy here's my kid brother," he wrapped an arm around Pony's neck, dragging him into an awkward headlock which almost made him fall face-first and backwards off the high counter.

I smiled. "I'm Bryon Douglas."

The older boy, now named Sodapop, nodded and took my hand over the counter and gave a firm shake. "Nice to meet you," he said politely.

I smiled and replied, "You too." Looks like at least one of the Curtis boys knew how to be welcoming.

I stayed a while longer and talked with Sodapop and after a little bit Ponyboy started to join in on our conversation. He didn't say much, but I think that was only because he's more on the quiet side.

Around noon Ponyboy jumped off the countertop and said he'd better get home to work on homework. I decided I'd walk him home and while he didn't want me to, his brother was all for the idea. So, the little Curtis and I embarked on our way to the Curtis home. I knew Ponyboy had another brother, his name was Darryl or Barry or something along those lines. I'd heard Mark saying something about him once or twice. He'd said he was real big, so I was a little worried about seeing him. After all, it could be kind of panicking to see your tiny, harmless little brother coming home followed by some taller, older kid. Yeah, if my kid came home being followed by someone like me I wouldn't be too friendly either.

"Douglas, you can stop walking now, we're here." Ponyboy's voice snapped me from my idiotic thoughts and I smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, yeah, I guess we are. Okay."

He walked over to the broken-latched gate and pushed it open. He began to walk up to the house he looked at me over his shoulder, "You coming in or goin' home?"

I didn't really want to go in only to be interrogated or beat up by some muscle-head but before I could say my goodbyes, the door was flung open and a guy wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt strolled out. He was red-faced and obviously drunk as he grinned at Ponyboy. "Hey, Pony!" He yelled with a drunken grin, grabbing the shorter boy and pulling him into the house. And just like that, the door was slammed shut and I was left outside the front gate feeling absolutely dumbstruck. I recognized the boy from school, he was a junior or senior, who went by the name of "Two-Bit".

After a couple seconds I laughed and walked away shaking my head. Yeah, Ponyboy was definitely much too interesting to ignore.


End file.
